


Full Moon

by Spikedluv



Series: The Lone Wolf Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:03:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there’s more training, and research, and sniffing.  And Derek comes over for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Lone Wolf.
> 
> Takes place end of season one, with a tiny spoiler for season two. If you've already read Lone Wolf, then you know what that is. If not, I'd suggest reading Lone Wolf first, though it isn't entirely necessary to understanding this story, or check the notes at the end for the season two spoiler before reading this story.
> 
> Written: August 6, 2012

Stiles’ body felt too big for his skin. It was as if he were twelve again, and just growing into himself, tripping over his feet every time he tried to walk (instead of just every other attempt). He’d already had a freak out that morning when he woke up and remembered that Derek had kissed him because _oh my god Derek Hale had kissed him_!

Even having had to endure a very awkward talk with his father about age differences, curfews, and safe sex that had them both blushing and eager to end the conversation (though Stiles could go nowhere because they were having the talk _in his bedroom_ ) couldn’t diminish the awesomeness of that. Though they’d barely been able to look at each other that morning, his father hiding behind the paper while Stiles hid behind his bowl of (heart healthy) cereal.

And now he was enduring Scott’s puzzled stare. “What?” Stiles said, more sharply than he’d intended, still stinging a little bit from last night’s embarrassing discussion.

“You smell like Derek,” Scott said.

“Well, I just saw him yesterday,” Stiles said, hoping that Scott wouldn’t notice the way his heart sped up at the mere mention of Derek’s name, or the heat creeping up his neck.

Scott shook his head like a confused puppy. “No, it’s different than that.”

Before Scott could put two and two together, or harangue Stiles into spilling the beans, Allison showed up. She smiled at Scott and he forgot all about Stiles. For the first time since Scott had met Allison Stiles was happy to be invisible to his best friend.

While Allison and Scott cooed at each other as if they hadn’t seen the other for weeks instead of hours Stiles couldn’t help scouring the hallway for Jackson. When Stiles found Jackson he stared, trying to see if he could discern any differences in him. Jackson noticed Stiles looking and sneered at him.

“What do you want, loser?” Jackson said.

Same old Jackson, Stiles thought. Until Jackson’s gaze slid to Scott and Allison and the sneer took on an ‘I know something you don’t’ quality. Stiles ached to tell Jackson that the bite hadn’t taken, to wipe the smug expression off his face, but he actually managed to hold his tongue. It wasn’t his place to disabuse Jackson of the notion that he’d gained any cool werewolf powers from Derek (though Stiles desperately wanted to be there to see his face when he found out).

Normally that might not have been enough to stay his tongue, but Scott and Allison didn’t yet know that Derek had bitten Jackson. He was dying to tell them everything he knew, if only because he knew that Scott would share his outrage that Derek had bitten Jackson, of all people. Except, Stiles didn’t think that Derek would appreciate Stiles blabbing that he’d been unable to make a werewolf, more than that he’d tried to make one.

Also, while Stiles didn’t think Allison would tattle to her parents, he now had a vested interest in making sure the Argents didn’t actively start hunting Derek, so he thought it better to play it safe with that one. Who knew what she might inadvertently let slip?

“Stiles!” Scott said, and from the irritation in his voice Stiles figured it wasn’t the first time he’d called his name.

“Sorry, what?”

“Bell’s gonna ring any second,” Scott said, and they all fell in together, heading to home room. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, just . . . .” Stiles gestured towards Jackson.

Scott cast a nervous glance at Jackson, who had threatened him with exposure more than once if he didn’t get what Scott had. “Douchebag,” Scott muttered.

“That’s what I said,” Stiles mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

~*~

“What’s wrong with you?” Scott said.

They were on their way to Derek’s house after that afternoon’s lacrosse match, in which they had kicked some serious ass due to Scott’s amazing speed and reflexes. Stiles, on the other hand, had done his best bench warming duties. When Stiles took his eyes off the road to glance over at Scott, his nose was all crinkled up as if he was . . . .

“Stop sniffing me, man, that’s just weird. And a huge invasion of privacy. And also, weird. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with me.

“Then why are you acting all nervous, or something?” Allison said.

Allison was no longer his favorite. “I’m not acting nervous,” Stiles said, forcing his thumb to stop tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

“Did something happen with Derek?” Scott said.

“What?” Stiles said, voice only squeaking a little bit. “Why would anything happen with Derek?”

“We left you alone with him yesterday,” Scott said, sounding guilty and worried. “Did he hurt you?”

“Derek didn’t touch me,” Stiles said, which was technically true since all the touching had happened later that night at Stiles’ house. Stiles glanced in the rearview mirror and then focused his attention on the road and refused to check the mirror again because Allison was studying him rather intently and he had a very bad feeling that she might actually be able to figure it out if he gave her the opportunity to do so.

“You’re lying about something,” Scott said, pouting. “I just can’t tell what.”

“Did you talk to Derek about the sniffing?” Allison asked.

Stiles prided himself on the fact that he didn’t drive Betty into a ditch. “No.”

Allison frowned at him skeptically.

“I didn’t,” Stiles insisted. “Ask the walking lie detector test here if you don’t believe me. I wanted to, but Derek had someplace to be and couldn’t make time to discuss it.”

The bitterness in Stiles’ tone wasn’t faked. Derek might be hotter than a hot thing, and Stiles might have enjoyed (understatement of the century) kissing him (and maybe wasn’t averse to having the whole kissing thing happen again), but Derek was still the most aggravating werewolf Stiles knew.

“I’ll make him talk about it tonight,” Stiles assured them both.

“So you _are_ nervous!” Scott said triumphantly, as if he’d figured it all out.

“Maybe a little bit,” Stiles admitted.

“Where did Derek have to go last night?” Allison asked.

“He didn’t say,” Stiles said, which was true as far as it went, and then said a silent thanks that they’d reached the turnoff to Derek’s driveway.

As if driving onto Hale land sent some kind of signal to his brain Scott sat up straighter and his attention shifted, as if he was listening for Derek. Stiles wondered if Scott realized he’d done that. Probably not.

Stiles glanced into the rearview mirror to see if Allison had noticed, but she was still studying him. Stiles quickly looked away, but what he saw then wasn’t any better for his peace of mind. Derek stood on the porch waiting for them. Stiles immediately remembered what it had felt like to be pressed to the door with Derek’s body. Derek’s hands on him. Derek’s tongue in his mouth.

Scott practically leapt out of the Jeep before Stiles had come to a complete stop. He shook his head like a dog and sneezed, and then turned his head and gave Stiles a baleful glare. “You _reek_ ,” he hissed.

“Sorry,” Stiles said guiltily. “I can’t help it!”

Allison patted his shoulder but Stiles had turned back to look out the windshield. Derek still stood on the porch like a statue, arms at his sides, hands clenched into fists, head at a slight tilt as he scented the air. Derek’s eyes flashed red.

Stiles did not touch himself, but only because Allison was still in the Jeep with him and Scott was scowling at him from outside it. Stiles scrambled out of Betty and took the opportunity of being hidden by the door to readjust himself inside his jeans. By the time he closed the door Scott and Allison had already started for the house. Stiles followed slowly – and not just because he was having trouble walking due to the woody inside his pants. He couldn’t take his eyes off Derek and he kept stumbling over the uneven ground.

Scott had stopped, which Stiles only realized when he almost ran into him. His head was tilted up in the same way Derek’s had been. He grimaced. “No wonder you smell weird,” he told Stiles.

Derek growled at that, and Scott actually looked guilty.

“Weird?” Scott said. “No, I meant, uh, awesome.”

Derek jumped over the railing and that move did not turn Stiles on _at all_. (Maybe a little bit.)

“Not awesome,” Scott said, backpedaling. Literally. “Oh, crap,” he said, breaking and running.

Derek just grinned (not a very nice grin, and that shouldn’t have been hot at all, either), and strode after Scott as if he’d have no problem catching up to him and making him sorry he’d ever been born.

“Don’t hurt him too badly,” Allison called after Derek. “I have plans for him later. Big plans,” she added, winking at Stiles.

Stiles didn’t know whether to be freaked out more that Allison wasn’t worried about Scott getting hurt, or that he now knew more about what they did when they were alone than he’d ever wanted to. Stiles didn’t have time to ponder it because Allison grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the steps.

As soon as they sat she said, “Tell Auntie Allison all about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Scott said.

“Yeah, that was believable,” Allison said. “Not. Now, spill.”

“Seriously,” Stiles said. “Nothing happened.”

The hickey on your neck says otherwise,” Allison said, poking the spot on Stiles’ neck where Derek liked to press his nose.

Stiles reflexively (and guiltily) slapped his hand against his neck before he remembered that Derek hadn’t sucked on his neck, relegating himself so far to sniffing the area. Stiles lowered his hand as casually as he could. “I don’t have a hickey.”

“Nope. But the fact that you didn’t remember whether you did or not is very telling.” Allison twirled the end of her non-existent mustache and gave a very villainous laugh.

Stiles opened his mouth to repeat his denials that anything had happened, but Allison spoke again before he could. “And don’t say ‘nothing’ again because I know that’s not true. Scott smelled something weird, and I’m beginning to smell something fishy.”

Stiles turned away from her, giving the two werewolves his full attention in order to buy some time. It appeared that today was going to be more of a ‘throw ‘em around’ day rather than a ‘calm your inner wolf’ day. Stiles was surprisingly okay with that. It was amazing what seeing all that skin could make acceptable.

Allison slid closer and pressed her shoulder to Stiles’. It was clear that she wasn’t giving up. Stiles sighed.

“We just kissed,” he said, sounding sappier than he’d meant to.

“Just?” Allison prodded.

“There might have been some . . . rubbing,” he admitted, flushing when he remembered how good the rubbing had felt.

Allison took his hand and squeezed it. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? No pun intended,” she added, making Stiles snort.

They were both silent for a moment as they turned their attention back to Derek and Scott. Stiles hoped that meant the ‘let’s embarrass Stiles hour’ was over. He hoped in vain.

“That explains all the sexual frustration,” Allison said loud enough for Derek to hear. (Not that he hadn’t probably heard every word they’d said.)

Derek glared at Allison over his shoulder and it gave Scott the opening he needed to take Derek down. Stiles winced.

Allison called out, “Good job, honey!”

“Hey!” Stiles felt compelled to say, even though Derek could totally take care of himself.

Allison grinned at him. “Aww, that’s so cute, sticking up for your man.”

Stiles opened his mouth to deny it, then figured, why bother. This time Allison let the conversation drop, for which Stiles thought he might be eternally grateful.

Stiles watched Derek move, all graceful predator. He couldn’t even bring himself to worry overmuch that his best friend was bearing the brunt of Derek’s . . . whatever was fueling him. Stiles was afraid to think that it might actually be sexual frustration, though he was feeling pretty sexually frustrated himself right then. Stiles leaned forward to hide the fact of just how much he was getting turned on from watching Derek run around shirtless and flex his considerable muscles.

Suddenly it appeared to be over. Derek stalked towards the house while Scott stood there looking confused.

“Is this part of training? Am I supposed to chase you?” Scott called.

Stiles wondered if Scott was right and this was some kind of trick to get him off guard so Derek could turn back around and throw him through the air, but Derek had been doing a good job of wiping the proverbial floor with Scott, so that tactic seemed unnecessary. Stiles’ eyes got wider the closer Derek got to the house, and the more strongly he realized that Derek’s very red eyes were trained on him.

“Uh . . . .”

“No, honey, I think you should stay right there,” Allison said, keeping her voice even and already sliding as far away from Stiles as she could get, given the railing blocking her in.

Stiles tried to scrabble back across the porch floor but it was too late. Derek grabbed a handful of shirt and jacket and literally dragged Stiles up and carried him into the house.

“What did I do?” Stiles said.

Derek slammed the door shut behind them and pressed Stiles (a lot more gently than he’d expected, given the fact that Derek was acting more wolf than human, even though his features had returned to human as he crossed the lawn) up against it.

“How come you don’t ever do that to me?” Stiles heard Allison ask through the door, followed by Scott’s squeak of, “What?”

And then Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ neck and he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart and the heavy rasp of his own breathing. Derek closed his teeth on the tendon in Stiles’ neck, and then his tongue licked a stripe up the side, ending behind his ear.

“Oh,” Stiles moaned as Derek slid his thigh between Stiles’ legs.

Stiles unashamedly humped Derek’s leg while Derek tenderized his neck, and then, oh god, he began sucking on it. Stiles hadn’t had a hickey after last night, but he sure as heck was going to have one after this. Stiles tried to say something sarcastic about Derek _marking him_ , but the only sounds he could make were raspy little noises in his throat as he worked himself even more desperately against Derek’s leg.

Derek suddenly released Stiles and stepped back, taking all that yummy friction with him.

“Wait, Derek, what . . . ?”

Derek didn’t answer. Shoulders stiff he walked away from Stiles and over to a bucket that Stiles hadn’t noticed before. Derek dunked his entire head in the bucket and then stood up and shook himself like a dog, sending water droplets everywhere. Including a few that ran down Derek’s chest.

Stiles dropped his hand and rubbed himself through his jeans as he watched one drop of water as it slid down Derek’s chest and made its way over his belly and headed towards the waistband of his jeans. Derek’s low growl only made Stiles moan and rub himself harder.

When Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrists and pinned them both above his head, snarling, “No touching,” Stiles arched and came in his underwear.

“I hate you so much right now,” Derek said against Stiles’ neck.

“You’re just jealous,” Stiles said, too blissed out to be embarrassed. (He’d probably be plenty mortified later, though.)

Derek gently bit Stiles in retaliation and then dragged his tongue over the spot. He reluctantly released Stiles’ wrists and took a step back. He made sure that Stiles was going to be able to hold up his own weight, and then paced away from him.

Derek pushed a hand through wet hair, making it stand up even more than usual. “We need to talk.”

“About this?” Stiles said. He was afraid Derek was going to tell him they couldn’t do this again, or that it had been a mistake, but endorphins were blunting most of his concern.

“You’re a distraction. You shouldn’t come to the training sessions anymore.”

Stiles felt a pang of rejection, and then a hit of smug satisfaction. “Because you can’t keep your hands off me,” he said, smiling.

Derek glared at him, but it was muted due to the discomfort he must be feeling since he hadn’t come. And from the bulge in the front of his jeans it was clear that he needed to.

“I could take care of that for you,” Stiles offered.

Derek growled.

“I’m just saying. It looks pretty uncomfortable.”

Derek’s gaze dropped to the spreading wet spot on the front of Stiles’ jeans. “So does that.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, pulling the material way from his body. More and more uncomfortable as the endorphins wore off.

Derek let him clean up using the water in the bucket (which turned out to be _freezing_ ) and a cloth that had seen better days. Wiped clean and zipped back up, Stiles stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do now.

“So. I did some research last night. You know, after my dad and I had our little talk. Fun times, by the way.” It wasn’t as if Stiles had been going to get any sleep, anyway. The heat of the kiss (and the awkwardness of the talk) too fresh for him to have relaxed enough to let sleep claim him.

Derek, who had seated himself on the end of the couch as far away from Stiles as he could get (and kept his gaze deliberately averted during clean up) turned his head now to look at Stiles. “Well?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I didn’t find much about werewolf impotence, oddly enough.”

Derek gave Stiles a look that said ‘you amuse me human, but if you didn’t I would squash you like a bug, and maybe eat you, and not in the fun way’. Stiles couldn’t help grinning at him. It was a heady thing, having the power to discomfit Derek.

“Seriously, though, not much about bites not taking, except a couple of footnotes that I almost missed.” By then he’d nearly been falling asleep at his computer. “A bite might not turn someone if there’s a prior claim. The source didn’t really explain that one, but I can do some more research later. Or if there’s some other supernatural force at work, like if a werewolf bit a vampire. I don’t know why. Maybe the universe is okay with werewolves and vampires, but draws the line at a vampire werewolf?”

Derek’s brow was creased. Stiles was used to that, though usually the expression was directed at him. This time, though, it appeared that Derek was actually thinking about what Stiles had said.

“Have you ever heard about anything like that?” Stiles asked.

Derek turned his somewhat-less-broody-than-usual gaze onto Stiles, but instead of flaying him with his normally acerbic tongue, he merely said, “No.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Stiles said.

Derek’s gaze went sharp. “You stay out of this. Stay away from Jackson until I know what’s going on. I mean it, Stiles.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You are not the boss of me, either,” he said.

Derek was on him before Stiles had taken his next breath. And not in a sexy way, either. Derek grabbed Stiles by his arms and shook him – not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get his attention.

“Do not push me on this, Stiles,” Derek gritted out.

“You’re really hot when you’re angry,” Stiles observed, and wow, it _was_ possible for Derek to get even more growl-y.

~*~*~*~

“Hey, Jackson,” Stiles said as Jackson walked past him in the hallway.

Jackson gave him the ‘why are you even talking to me’ look that he’d probably perfected in the crib. Stiles just waved and gave Jackson a knowing look.

“What was that about?” Scott said.

“I’ll tell you later,” Stiles promised.

Allison appeared just then, Stiles’ angel of best timing ever, and Scott dropped it.

Every time Stiles saw Jackson that morning he gave him a little nod. Finally Jackson cornered him. “What the hell is up with you?” Jackson snarled as he pushed Stiles into a locker.

“Hey,” Stiles said, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. “I just thought that, as two of the people who know about some of the weird shit that goes on around here, we could maybe be friendly to one another.”

“No matter what happened the other night, we are not friends, Stilinski.”

“Okay,” Stiles said reasonably. “Have it your way.”

Jackson gave Stiles one last shove for good measure and stormed off.

“Dude!” Scott said when he reached Stiles.

Stiles ignored the concern in his tone and said, “What’s he smell like to you?”

“Who?”

“Jackson.”

“You want me to sniff Jackson?”

Stiles gave Scott a ‘duh!’ look.

“Are you asking me if he’s attracted to you?” Scott asked, sounding horrified. “Because if he is, I don’t want to know.”

“What? No! Oh my god, me either! I think you just made me throw up in my mouth a little bit,” Stiles said as they started walking towards their next class.

“What was that all about?”

“I just wondered if he smelled different to you,” Stiles said.

“That’s not really an answer.”

Where was the distraction of Allison when you needed her? Luckily the bell rang just then and they had to race for the classroom.

~*~

At lunch Stiles called out, “Hey, Danny, you guys want to sit with us?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders and headed in their direction. Jackson stared after him as if he’d gone completely nuts, but then trailed reluctantly after him.

“Seriously?” Jackson hissed as he sat down beside Danny.

Stiles just smiled and acted like he hadn’t heard Jackson’s comment. He kicked Scott, who was staring moonily at Allison, under the table.

“Ow, what?”

“Jackson and Danny have joined us,” Stiles said.

“Hey,” Scott greeted the other boys even as he gave Stiles a ‘what the heck’ look.

Stiles angled his head towards Jackson and widened his eyes, trying to give Scott a significant look. Scott rolled his eyes, but Stiles could tell from the look of concentration on his face as he stuffed chips into his mouth that he was exerting his senses on Jackson.

Scott and Allison left the cafeteria before the bell so they could have some alone time and Stiles was left with Jackson and Danny. He smiled at them and got one hostile and one confused look in return.

“So, what have you guys been up to?”

Jackson gave Stiles that same smug look he’d given Scott earlier, and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He pushed back his chair and got up.

“Yeah, actually, I would, that’s why I asked,” Stiles said after him.

When Stiles turned back to the table Danny was standing up, as well. He bent over the table and Stiles leaned forward.

“Listen, I’m flattered, but I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Stiles’ mouth hung open as he watched Danny walk away. He snapped it shut.

“So do I. I think.”

Stiles didn’t run into Scott until two classes later. “Well?”

“Well what? Oh, Jackson?”

“Yes, Scott, Jackson, what do you think?”

Scott smiled at someone over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles didn’t even have to look to know it was Allison. He waved his hand in front of Scott’s face.

“Oh my god, would you concentrate? Jackson?”

“He smelled fine,” Scott said. “A little heavy on the aftershave, but nothing out of the ordinary. Are you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

“Nothing strange or off at all?” Stiles pushed.

Scott shrugged. “He just smells like Jackson.”

Stiles lost Scott’s attention to Allison again, which was just as well because Stiles didn’t want to have to lie to Scott. He did, however, wish that Scott had smelled something, _anything_ on Jackson that would’ve given him a clue to go on.

Stiles hadn’t been able to do any more research the night before, and Derek hadn’t stopped by, so Stiles pictured him skulking outside Jackson’s house all night, keeping an eye on him, and then returning to his creepy house to brood about it.

Stiles had a couple fresh bruises when they reached Derek’s house that evening because Jackson had taken great joy in dumping Stiles on his ass a few times just to remind him how much _not friends_ they were. Derek gave Stiles a look that simultaneously said, ‘I knew you wouldn’t listen, I don’t know why I even bothered telling you to stay away’ (but he didn’t tell him to leave, so Stiles took that as a win), and ‘I’m going to kill whoever hurt you’ (which made Stiles _feel_ things that made Derek look like he was going to reconsider sending him away). Stiles tried very hard to think un-sexy thoughts.

Derek was wearing a shirt. Stiles didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t expected Stiles to show up (but who was he kidding, really?), which meant he’d been _not_ wearing one on purpose, or whether he’d expected Stiles to ignore him (more likely) and wore the shirt to keep Stiles’ reaction to all that skin to a level that wouldn’t distract him from training Scott.

It was a good thought in theory, but it failed in execution because Derek didn’t need to be shirtless to be hot and to fuel Stiles’ fantasies. Still, Stiles was a little bit distracted from Derek’s hotness by how little information he’d been able to gather about Jackson.

“What’s wrong?” Allison said.

“What?” Stiles said, jerked out of his thoughts.

“You’re not drooling.”

“Trust me, I’m drooling on the inside,” Stiles said.

Allison smiled, but she didn’t look convinced. Stiles tried to remain present for the rest of the training session, but sometimes he found his thoughts drifting off and had to force himself not to think about Jackson and bites that didn’t take until later.

Finally training was over and Stiles found himself fidgeting. Derek gave him a look that said, ‘I know you’re up to something, I just haven’t figured out what yet’.

“You two should stay away tomorrow,” Derek said without preamble. “Scott, be over here by four.”

“Why can’t we be here?” Allison said at the same time Scott said, “What am I going to tell my mom?”

“Tell your mother whatever you have to,” Derek told Scott. “Tell her you’re staying over at Stiles’ house.” He turned on Allison. “And you really have to ask me that question?”

Stiles raised his hand. “I don’t.” He’d been there the first two full moons. Still, he wished there was something he could do to help. “We could provide snacks, or something.”

Derek just gave him a look that said ‘you could _be_ the snack’. It wasn’t as much of a deterrent as Derek may have thought.

“We’ll stay away,” Stiles assured Derek. Everyone gave him the ‘since when are you the reasonable one’ look. “What? Been there, done that, almost got killed to prove it.”

Scott looked the slightest bit guilty. As he should.

Derek turned to Allison. “And you especially can’t be here because if you get even a paper cut your father will find a way to blame it on Scott and will feel justified in killing him, which I’m pretty certain none of us here wants. It’s not just for your protection, but to keep Scott safe, as well.”

“I understand,” Allison said. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”

Allison and Scott shared a look that made Stiles want to roll his eyes, but he saw Derek looking at him and couldn’t.

“You guys need a ride home?” Stiles said, suddenly afraid to be alone with Derek, who could rip off his head for disobeying him.

“Nah, I think we’ll walk, especially since we can’t spend tomorrow night together.”

Like they wouldn’t be spending the entire day together, Stiles thought, but didn’t say. What he said was, “Awesome. You crazy kids have a good time.” Stiles slowly backed away from Derek as he watched Scott and Allison take each other’s hand and head for the woods. “Well,” he said as he reached his Jeep. “I guess I’ll be going, too. Homework and . . . stuff.”

“What is it you don’t want me to know?” Derek said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles said.

“You can’t lie for crap,” Derek observed as he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and sauntered after Stiles.

Stiles couldn’t help being a little bit turned on even though he was _lying like a rug_ to Derek. “Well, it’s been fun,” he said, “but I really . . . .”

“What’s the one thing I told you not to do?” Derek mused.

“. . . should get home. Dad’s expecting me,” Stiles continued, but if he thought mention his father would get Derek to back off he was wrong. “My turn to cook dinner . . . .”

“Stay away from Jackson,” Derek went on as if Stiles hadn’t even spoken. “So what did you do instead?”

“Um, what?”

In Stiles’ defense, Derek had him pinned to Betty, which sounded a lot kinkier than it was.

“What did you do?” Derek ducked his head and gave Stiles’ neck a cursory sniff as if he could read all of Stiles’ thoughts from the way he smelled. Stiles shivered. It appeared that he was pretty much hard wired to get turned on whenever Derek got anywhere near his neck.

“Noth–.” Stiles broke off the denial with a squeak when Derek licked his neck. “I had Scott smell Jackson!”

“You what?” Derek said, his voice deceptively soft.

“Just a little sniff. Jackson had no idea.”

“And what about Scott?”

“No idea either. He may think that I think Jackson is attracted to me. I didn’t tell him that, though, he came up with it on his own.”

“What am I going to do to you?” Derek said. He trailed a finger along Stiles’ jaw. “To make you listen?”

“Are you open to suggestions?”

Derek’s eyes flashed. “I have to check on Jackson.”

“Scott didn’t smell anything off, if that helps.”

“I didn’t smell anything off, either,” Derek growled.

“Well, that’s good, right? And now you have a second opinion. Sort of. Two noses are better than one, and all that. I’m just going to shut up now.”

Derek sighed and stepped back. Stiles suddenly felt cold without Derek pressed up against him. “Go home, Stiles. Do your homework, have dinner with your dad. Be normal.”

“You could come over,” Stiles said before he could censor himself. “For dinner.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Do you really think that’s wise?”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe not.” He watched Derek walk back towards the house. “That wasn’t a no!”

~*~

Stiles had zero idea whether Derek would come over. Probably not, since Derek didn’t seem to be that kind of guy, and Stiles didn’t know if they had that kind of relationship. He made enough lasagna in case he did, anyway. If there were leftovers his dad could take them to work instead of hitting the fast food drive thru or eating something out of the vending machine, which Stiles totally knew he did even though he was supposed to eat healthy.

They had just sat down to eat when the doorbell rang. Stiles had been on edge – caught between hoping and not wanting to hope – and at the sound his entire body jerked. The fork he’d just picked up off the table went flying. Thankfully sans lasagna, since he hadn’t gotten that far. Stiles’ father looked irritated to be interrupted during his meal, probably expecting it to be work, but he started to rise to go answer the door.

Stiles frantically said, “No, Dad, I’ve got it,” and hit his head on the table as he stood up after having retrieved the fork. “You keep eating.”

“Are you going to get the door?” his father said when Stiles just stood there for a moment, fidgeting. The doorbell rang again to punctuate the question.

“Yes!” Stiles said, dropping the dirty fork into the sink. “Just . . . I invited Derek,” he said quickly. “He wasn’t sure he could make it, he had other . . . . Please don’t shoot him!” Stiles hissed as he hurried out of the kitchen before Derek could ring the bell again.

Stiles was a little bit breathless when he pulled open the front door. He got a lot more breathless when he saw Derek standing there, all glower-y and hot.

“Hey,” Stiles said, staring unabashedly at Derek Hale standing on his front porch.

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“So, front door. That’s new for you,” Stiles said, smirking.

“Stiles!” his dad called from the kitchen. “Let him in.”

To Stiles it sounded more like a command than an invitation.

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles stood back to let Derek enter. “He’s unarmed,” he assured Derek. Mostly himself, but also Derek.

Derek followed Stiles into the kitchen. He greeted Stiles’ dad with a polite, “Sir,” while Stiles busied himself dishing up another plate of lasagna.

“Derek,” Stiles’ father said cautiously, “have a seat.”

Stiles set the plate in front of Derek. “I hope you like lasagna,” he said, anxiously wiping the palms of his hands against the legs of his jeans.

“It smells good,” Derek said, and Stiles felt himself melting a little bit.

“Oh, drink! What would you like to drink?” Stiles rattled off everything he could think of that they had in the house, including beer. “No, not beer,” he amended at his father’s look.

“Water’s fine,” Derek said as he regarded Stiles with a steady gaze. It seemed odd to Stiles that the same look that would’ve had him pissing his pants when he first met Derek would now have a calming effect on him.

“Water, okay.”

Stiles poured a glass of water and set it in front of Derek as he slid into his own seat. He stared at his plate and for some reason couldn’t figure out what to do next. It took a second for him to realize that he didn’t have a fork. And neither did Derek.

“Forks!” Stiles said, getting up quickly and banging his leg on the table. “Ow,” he said as he hobbled over to the silverware drawer. “If you’re laughing at me I’m going to stab you with this fork,” Stiles threatened. When he turned around Derek’s expression was bland. “You’re totally laughing on the inside, aren’t you?” Stiles accused.

Derek gently took both forks from Stiles (probably more concerned that Stiles would hurt himself rather than that he would follow through on his threat). “Sit. Eat.”

Stiles immediately began to slide into his seat. Because he’d been going to anyway, and not because he was obeying Derek. He slid him a glance to tell him that, but Derek was already eating. Stiles noticed that his father’s plate was almost empty. His butt stopped an inch from the seat. “Dad, another helping?”

“I can get it myself, Stiles. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

The lasagna was already cooler than Stiles preferred, but he ate it anyway. Stiles’ knee jiggled beneath the table as his father interrogated Derek under the guise of small talk. Derek stretched his leg out and touched Stiles’ leg under the table and it magically stopped bouncing. His dad glanced at him and Stiles felt his face heating even though he knew his father couldn’t see through the table. Unless he could, which would be cool. But embarrassing.

Eventually Stiles’ father released them. “Since you cooked tonight, I’ll do clean up,” he said. “You two can go talk in private.”

Stiles didn’t wait to see if his dad was going to change his mind. “Thanks, dad,” he said as he tripped out of his chair and pulled on Derek’s arm.

Derek nodded respectfully at Stiles’ father. “Sir.”

His dad waited until they’d cleared the kitchen door to add, “In the living room.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but altered his trajectory from the stairs to the living room. He practically pushed Derek onto the couch and sat so close to him that he could feel the heat off Derek’s body.

“What happened?” Stiles said.

Derek raised an eyebrow.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, where the sound of running water and dishes being scraped and stacked came from the kitchen. “With Jackson.”

“Nothing,” Derek said.

“Oh, well, that’s good, right?” Stiles said, trying not to sound disappointed because as much as he was glad that Jackson wasn’t going to turn into a werewolf, ‘nothing’ didn’t give him much to go on for research purposes. “Maybe not for you,” he added when he saw Derek’s expression, “and the whole creating a pack business, but for me, who already gets shoved into the lockers on a regular basis.”

Derek growled low in his throat.

Stiles patted Derek’s knee. “Don’t worry, big guy, I can take care of myself.”

Derek looked even more worried now, which was kind of insulting, actually. And kind of nice.

Stiles looked down and realized that he was still patting Derek’s leg. He stared at his own hand, wondering if he was allowed to do that now. Stiles began to slowly withdraw his hand, erring on the side of _not getting his hand ripped off_. Before he could move it very far Derek grabbed it. Stiles waited to see if he’d be left with a bloody stump. Instead, Derek just . . . held onto his hand.

“Is this a thing we do now?” Stiles said, wiggling his fingers. “Hold hands?” He bumped Derek’s shoulder to let him know he wasn’t averse to it, and just in case Derek was planning on letting go he curled his fingers so that he also held onto Derek’s hand.

“You’re sixteen years old,” Derek said out of the blue.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you know how old I am?” Derek said.

“Thirty?” Stiles teased, and couldn’t hold back the grin when Derek glared at him. “ _Now_ you start to get freaked out by the age difference?” he said.

“I’m not _freaked out_ ,” Derek said. “I’m just . . . very aware of it. Especially now.” He gave Stiles a red-eyed glower.

“What? I’m a teenager, I can’t help it if just holding hands turns me on.” He gave Derek a few seconds to perfect his glare. “Besides, it’s not like you’re some old guy perving on prime young guys such as myself.”

Derek looked torn between amusement and frustration.

“Wait, are you?”

Derek frowned. “No.”

“And it’s not like you could help it,” Stiles said. “I mean, I am quite a catch.”

Another raised eyebrow. Stiles wondered if he should start counting them.

“That’s partly true,” Derek agreed.

“Which part?”

Derek sighed. “You have always smelled good.”

“I used to smell like fear and terror when you saw me! Or when I saw you.” At Derek’s look Stiles added, “Not that you don’t instill plenty of fear and terror still.”

“It wasn’t the fear and terror,” Derek said. “That was just a bonus.”

“Oh, nice,” Stiles said, but before he could get on a tear he realized, “Wait, was that a joke? It was, wasn’t it? Look at you, telling jokes like a real boy.”

Derek growled.

“Who is still plenty fearsome,” Stiles assured him.

Derek heaved a resigned sigh.

Stiles’ father poked his head into the living room. “It’s getting late,” he said, which Stiles translated into, ‘Derek should leave now’.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said. It wasn’t like he could do what he wanted to do to Derek with his dad standing right there, anyway. “I’ll walk you out,” he told Derek.

When they stood on the porch Stiles didn’t know what to do. “Thanks for coming over,” he blurted out when the silence had gone on too long.

“Thanks for asking me,” Derek said, sounding as if he still wasn’t sure why Stiles had. “The lasagna, you made it?”

Stiles nodded. “From scratch. My mom’s recipe.”

“It was good.”

“Thanks.” Stiles wiped his palms on the seat of his jeans as silence fell again.

“So,” Stiles said, and then squeaked when Derek swooped down and pressed his nose to Stiles’ neck. Stiles shivered and let his eyes slide closed. When he opened them Derek was gone.

“You really suck,” Stiles muttered, knowing that Derek would hear him.

Stiles went back inside the house and locked the front door. He found his father in the living room, pretending to watch television.

“Derek’s gone,” Stiles said. “Would you like to do a virtue check before I go upstairs?”

His father gave Stiles a raised eyebrow that would have had him quaking before he’d met Derek’s eyebrows. “Do I need to?”

“No,” Stiles said. He’d meant to sound certain, but from the look on his father’s face it had come out more wistful than he’d intended. “Good night!”

Stiles walked into his bedroom very cautiously, half expecting to see Derek lounging on his bed, or perched on the window sill. The room was empty.

~*~*~*~

Saturday dawned B-O-R-I-N-G for Stiles. Scott would be spending all of his free time with Allison until he had to go over to Derek’s, and Derek had made it clear that Stiles should stay away today. Not that Derek’s pronouncement was the reason Stiles was staying away, because as he’d proven on many an occasion, telling him _not_ to do something was tantamount to waving a red cape in his face and daring him to do it. Not because he wanted to disobey or go back on his word, but because whatever it was he wasn’t supposed to do took up so much of his brain until it was the only thing he could think about, and the only way to clear his mind of it was to just do it.

No, Stiles was mainly staying away from Derek because he didn’t want the heightened senses of the werewolf to be able to sniff out (heh, sniff out) that Stiles was planning to disobey him. Stiles only wanted to help, and someone had to keep an eye on Jackson while Derek was keeping an eye on Scott. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

By the time his dad appeared in the kitchen, Stiles had cleaned his bedroom and started breakfast. Between flipping the bacon (turkey) to make sure it didn’t burn Stiles had sorted the mail from the last week that littered the table and counters, and wiped down every surface with an anti-bacterial cleaner. His father’s nose twitched at the scent of frying bacon (even if it was turkey) while his eyes took in the sparkling counters.

“Did you take your meds this morning?” he asked as he sat down to the paper Stiles had already retrieved from the bush alongside the porch steps where the paperboy’s poor aim invariably sent it.

“Yes,” Stiles said as he set the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate to drain and poured the scrambled egg mixture into the hot pan.

“You’ve got an awful lot of . . . energy this morning,” his dad observed. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“No?” Stiles said as he put down the toast and got out the heart healthy spread that he kept trying to convince his dad didn’t taste like cardboard, even though it really kind of did.

“Just tell me it’s not illegal,” his father said.

“Of course not!” Stiles said, offended.

His father merely raised an eyebrow at Stiles’ righteous indignation.

It wasn’t illegal, Stiles thought. It wasn’t like he was planning on _stalking_ Jackson. He was just observing. Private investigators did it all the time. And they even took pictures, which Stiles wasn’t going to do.

Stiles finished cooking while his father read the paper. They ate in companionable silence except for requests to pass the jam and Stiles telling his dad that he couldn’t have any more salt on his eggs because he’d already salted them while they were cooking, but he could have more pepper if he wanted because people didn’t eat enough pepper these days.

“Are you going to see Scott today?”

“Maybe later,” Stiles said as he pushed the scrambled eggs around on his plate. “He’s got plans with Allison.”

“Ah,” his dad said. “You’re bored.”

“I’m not bored,” Stiles denied, but not very convincingly going by the look his father gave him.

“You were cleaning the kitchen.”

“Just to have something to do while the bacon was cooking.”

“I peeked into your room to see if you were still sleeping.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t as if Stiles never picked up his room, or as if he’d actually gotten out a dust cloth and vacuum, but he had picked up his clothes (and even thrown a load into the washer), and reshelved his books, and organized his desk. He’d even made his bed.

“Maybe I am a little bored.”

Instead of telling Stiles ‘I told you so’, his dad just said, “Well, thank you for making breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.”

Stiles cleaned up breakfast while his father finished the paper and then went to dress in his uniform.

“I’m going in to the office for a couple of hours to see if I can make a dent in some paperwork,” his dad informed Stiles. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead and for a second he felt eight again, when all had been right in his world. “Be good. And if you can’t be good make sure Scott helps you hide the body.”

Stiles choked. “Dad!”

If only you knew, Stiles thought, remembering the body they’d buried on Derek’s land the night of the formal. After his dad left Stiles went to his room and started on his homework. He made it through two subjects before he got mentally restless and turned his attention to researching the bite for Derek. He found a whole lot of nothing and his eyes were bleary by the time his belly rumbled to tell him it was time for lunch.

Stiles made himself a turkey sandwich piled high with lettuce and tomato and ate standing over the sink so he didn’t have to dirty a plate or clean up the table as well. When he was done, hunger sated for the moment, Stiles made a sandwich for his dad and wrapped it. As he cleaned up Stiles decided to go to the hospital to visit Lydia.

He’d visited her nearly every day after school for the first week, but he hadn’t been once since Derek had practically kidnapped him and asked him to help with Scott. And then with the whole Jackson thing, and the Derek kissing him thing, he’d just forgotten. Stiles felt guilty for that, since he blamed himself for Lydia being there in the first place.

Stiles dropped the sandwich off on his way to the hospital. He pretended not to see the bag of chips his dad slid into his drawer when he spotted Stiles, and told him that he was on his way to see Lydia. His dad said something about it being nice that Stiles still visited her and made him feel even more guilty about the days he hadn’t.

When he got to her room Lydia’s parents were there. Stiles hated to interrupt when they were visiting so he sat in the waiting area and tried to not tap his toe. Finally he couldn’t sit any longer. He needed to do something so he knocked softly on the jam of Lydia’s door and asked her parents if he could bring them anything from the cafeteria.

They looked surprised, and then pleased, but instead of taking Stiles up on his offer said they needed some fresh air and would he sit with Lydia while they were gone. Which is how Stiles ended up sitting beside Lydia’s bed and telling her about anything he could think of that didn’t have to do with werewolves. He talked about classes and lacrosse, Scott and Allison, Jackson, and he even ended up spilling the beans that Derek had kissed him. And that he hadn’t hated it.

“Who would, right? I mean, he’s _smokin’_.”

Which is when Lydia’s parents returned, looking better from having a few minutes outside the hospital.

“I was just . . . talking to her about school and stuff.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Lydia’s mom said, and somehow that made him feel even worse.

~*~

At home Stiles checked the cupboards to see what they had and pulled a package of chicken breasts out of the freezer. He left them on the counter to thaw and went up to his room. He got out his Chemistry textbook to read the next chapter and do the problems at the end, but he ended up staring at his cell phone instead. No messages from Scott or Allison. Or Derek. Not that Derek had his cell phone number, or would text him anyway.

Stiles texted Scott. _do u have Ds cell #?_

The message he got back made him laugh. _OMG no I am not enablg ur romnc w d!!!_ and then _dont thnk he has 1 nywy_.

Stiles opened his book and started reading. He heard his dad come home and then nothing until there was a knock on his door. Stiles flailed as he was jerked out of sleep. The book he’d been reading had already slid off his lap and was holding on by its proverbial fingernails. His movement sent it careening over the edge to crash onto the floor.

“Stiles?” Allison said, sounding worried.

“Uh, yeah. Come in.” Stiles rubbed his face with the heel of his hands and sat up.

Allison eased the door open and peered into the room. “I woke you,” she said apologetically.

“‘S okay,” Stiles said. “I was reading chem.” He pointed to the book on the floor.

“Understandable, then,” Allison said, smiling at him. But it wasn’t as bright and shiny as her smiles usually were. Which woke Stiles up faster than a bucket of cold water dumped onto his head.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles swung his legs over the side of the bed and patted the spot on the mattress beside him.

Allison sat next to him. “Nothing, really. I just don’t want to go home yet. Where my dad’ll be sharpening his knives and cleaning his guns, preparing to _kill my boyfriend_ , and I just . . . .”

Stiles reached out and took Allison’s hand. “Scott is going to be fine. Derek won’t let anything happen to him.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes, and not just because . . . you know. I mean, even when he scared the . . . well, he still scares me a little bit, but even when he was a big jerk . . . he’s still kind of a jerk now, actually, but back when we didn’t know him, not that we really know him now . . . .”

“Stiles.”

Stiles stopped talking.

“You trust him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I do. I mean, he’s always tried to help Scott. Even though Derek didn’t bite him, and they didn’t know who did, Derek tried to train him and protect him from . . . .”

“My family.”

“Hunters,” Stiles said. “I was going to say hunters.” Not that that made it any better.

Allison gave Stiles a wry smile. “Thanks, Stiles.”

“You’re welcome? So.” Stiles bent and picked up the chemistry text. “Wanna really help me with chem?”

Allison gave him a look.

“Movie?”

They settled on ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love.’ because Allison was in the mood for a romantic comedy and Stiles got to see Ryan Gosling’s abs. Win-win.

After the movie Allison sat in the kitchen with Stiles while he threw together a casserole for dinner and put it in the oven. He invited her to stay, but she had an early curfew because of the full moon. After she left Stiles tried to concentrate on chemistry, but it was too close to his stealth mission of the night so Stiles spent the time packing his backpack with snacks and a pair of his dad’s binoculars and a tape recorder (just because he thought it sounded cool) instead.

Stiles served up dinner and they ate at the kitchen table which they’d been doing lately because it was easier. Stiles’ knee jiggled only a little bit, and he answered his dad’s questions about Lydia and Allison without too much stumbling. Afterwards Stiles ushered his dad into the living room to watch television while he cleaned up dinner.

While his dad was engrossed in some black and white movie he’d never seen Stiles poked his head into the living room and said, “Heading over to Scott’s for a little while.”

His dad just grunted, then roused enough to say, “Don’t be too late, and keep your cell phone on.”

Stiles grabbed the pack he’d hidden in the front hall closet and went out to his Jeep. He greeted Betty with a slide of his hand across her hood. “Hey, girl. We’ve got a big night ahead of us.”

Stiles slid behind the wheel and set the pack on the passenger seat. He cracked his knuckles before inserting the key into the ignition. Stiles drove past Jackson’s house once, and then found a place to park down the block. It was a good thing Stiles had brought the binoculars because Jackson’s family lived in the ritzy part of town and the house was set back a ways from the street.

After five minutes Stiles concluded that stakeouts were boring. He fiddled with the radio, opened the snacks he’d brought, and even trained the binoculars on the homes of people not named Jackson just to give himself something to do. When he turned back to Jackson’s house there was a cat sniffing at something outside the fence guarding Jackson’s home from the rest of Beacon Hills. Stiles studied the cat until he was certain it was a regular old cat and not some murdering werecat. And then he spent the next few minutes imagining the fun he’d have telling Jackson that he’d turned into a cat and picturing were!Scott and were!Derek chasing were!Jackson. It was good times.

Until someone jerked the driver’s side door open and made Stiles scream like a little girl and try to bash the intruder with peanut butter filled cracker-y goodness. Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist before he could do any cracker damage and snarled, “What are you doing here?”

“What the _fuck_!” Stiles hissed angrily. “Are you seriously trying to scare me to _death_?”

“Answer. The question.”

“I’m keeping an eye on Jackson,” Stiles said belligerently.

“After I expressly told you to stay away from him.”

“I’m nowhere near him,” Stiles said, then, “Ow,” as Derek’s fingers tightened around his wrist.

Derek released him, but did not get out of his face. “Do you think he wouldn’t be able to tell you were here? To hear you, to smell you?”

“Now that’s just mea–. Okay, no, I didn’t think so, because he isn’t supposed to turn! You said . . . .”

“He’s not going to turn. At least not into a werewolf.”

“Then why are you here?” Stiles said.

“Because he might turn into something else,” Derek said calmly.

“Like _what_?” Stiles squeaked. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a cute little werecat knowing Jackson.

“Why did you come?”

“I just thought he might do something stupid. Jackson-stupid, not werewolf level of stupid.”

“Move over.”

“What?”

“Move. Over.”

Stiles climbed over the stick and fell into the passenger seat, crackers crushing beneath him, binoculars banging against his chest. Stiles had to shove the backpack onto the floor so he could sit on the seat, and by then Derek had started the Jeep.

“Be careful with her.”

Derek just glared at him, but instead of peeling away from the curb angrily he pulled carefully away. It wasn’t until they were half-way back to Stiles’ home that he remembered Scott.

“Hey, you left Scott alone!”

“Scott’s fine.”

“How do you kno–?”

“Scott. Is fine. Which is more than I can say for you.”

Stiles shut up. But his brain didn’t stop whirring and his knee didn’t stop bouncing. Until Derek put his hand on it. And not angrily, either.

“I just wanted to help,” Stiles said. Not at all petulantly.

Derek remained silent. He lifted his hand off Stiles’ knee only when he had to shift, and then returned it.

“You had to be with Scott, and someone had to keep an eye on Jackson.”

Stiles didn’t expect Derek to respond, and he was right.

“I was the only one.”

The silence was grating on his nerves.

“I know I don’t have all the really cool werewolf-y super powers, like hearing, and smell, and speed . . . .”

“And healing,” Derek said.

Stiles broke off and realized that they’d pulled into his driveway. He watched as Derek carefully shifted into neutral and engaged the parking brake before turning off the engine.

“I can still . . . .”

“You need to be kept safe,” Derek said.

“Hey, you’re the one that keeps . . . .” Stiles broke off as he realized that not one of the times Derek had come to him for help had he intentionally put Stiles in danger, even if he’d ended up there anyway. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

Derek got out of the Jeep and shut the door without slamming it. He walked around the front and opened the door for Stiles and waited for him to stumble out. Derek shut the door with a care that was almost eery. He pressed Stiles back against the side of the Jeep and stuck his nose in his neck.

Ah, Stiles thought, back to familiar territory. Still, he couldn’t repress a little shiver as Derek dragged his nose along Stiles’ skin.

Derek pulled himself away from Stiles and herded him to the front door. Derek waited until Stiles was inside and the door nearly closed between them to say, “I’d care.”

~*~*~*~

“Was that Derek?”

Stiles’ heart leapt into his throat and he nearly jumped out of his skin when his father’s disembodied voice came out of the darkened living room, which was illuminated only by the flickering light of the television.

“Don’t _do_ that!” Stiles said, still clutching his chest as if that might actually keep his heart from escaping. “Jeeze, between the two of you I’m going to need a transplant before I’m 20.”

“Is that a yes?” his father said wryly.

Stiles sighed as he headed for the living room. “Your concern for my well-being is heart warming, really. And yes, that was Derek.” Stiles figured there was no point in lying – his father hadn’t gotten to be Sheriff on the old Stilinski charm alone. “He wanted to make sure I got home safely,” Stiles said. This time, he realized, he didn’t even have to fudge the truth even a little bit.

“Was he at Scott’s?” His father’s casual tone didn’t fool Stiles.

“Not exactly.” Stiles slumped onto the couch and toed off his sneakers. “I saw him on the way home.” And back to the half-truths again.

“And decided to pick him up.” Stiles didn’t need to see his father’s face to be able to picture his expression. He’d seen it often enough.

“You make it sound so sordid,” Stiles said, part of him maybe wishing that it had been a little bit sordid. “Nothing happened, which should make you happy.”

Stiles didn’t think sniffing counted, but he wasn’t sure his father would feel the same way so he didn’t mention it.

“Ecstatic,” his dad said.

At least one of them was.

~*~

Stiles was up early the next morning, unable to sleep due to all the wanting to know what had happened last night. He’d only realized after he’d gotten into bed that Derek hadn’t told him anything about how Scott was doing last night except ‘fine’, which wasn’t really an answer at all. At 6am Stiles texted Scott to call him if he needed a ride home. He waited a few minutes hoping for a reply until he realized that Scott wouldn’t be up for a couple more hours on a normal Sunday, and after a full moon might sleep even later.

He’d never be able to get back to sleep now, though, so Stiles was forced to pick up his Chemistry textbook again. This time he got through the entire chapter (though he had to re-read bits because his mind started to wander) and all the questions at the end, even the ones that weren’t assigned. He wondered if he could get extra credit for doing them – Chemistry was the one class where he could use it.

After an hour of Chemistry Stiles’ brain was fried, so he didn’t even want to look at another textbook. He looked around his room – it was as clean as he needed it. Dusting and vacuuming would only make it seem like someone else’s room. He was comfortable with all that dust. Which left breakfast.

His father was already up, enjoying a cup of coffee (which had better be decaf) while reading the Sunday paper. He looked at Stiles over the top of the paper. “Morning.”

Stiles mumbled something in reply.

“You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Falling in love’ll do that to you.”

Stiles almost dropped the eggs he was getting out of the refrigerator. It was near thing, but he caught them and safely navigated them to the counter. “I’m not in love,” Stiles said, “and you almost lost your breakfast.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” Stiles said, purposely misunderstanding, ”because this is the last of the eggs. I’ll need to hit the grocery store later, so make sure anything you want is on the list.”

His father didn’t comment, for which Stiles was grateful. Because he didn’t want to talk about it. Not Derek, nor whatever this thing was between them. Instead he busied himself with making breakfast. He’d used up the turkey bacon yesterday, so today he decided on omelets. That way his father wouldn’t complain about the vegetables Stiles made him eat, and he thought that there was still some deli ham in the fridge that he could use.

Stiles diced vegetables and shredded cheese and then poured the egg mixture he’d stirred up into the heated pan. He put whole wheat bread down for toast, and set out the fake butter spread and jam. Stiles stole his father’s coffee cup under the guise of replacing it with orange juice and dumped the remaining coffee down the drain.

Stiles made a mean omelet, if he did say so himself. He and his father ate in silence, except for a sound reminiscent of pigs snuffling at the trough. When his plate was clean Stiles leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly. His father was doing the same thing. They grinned sheepishly at each other.

“That was good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said.

“If you can’t decide what to do after high school you should consider becoming a cook. Or a chef. Or whatever the fancy word is.”

Stiles hid his pleasure at his father’s comment in clearing the table. “I’m not that good,” he said. The meals he threw together were tasty enough, but they weren’t anything fancy.

Stiles’ father walked over to the sink where Stiles was scraping their plates. He caught Stiles’ head in his hand, holding him like he wanted to ruffle the hair Stiles had decided to cut off last summer, and placed a kiss to the side of his head. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Thanks again for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said, not even trying to get out of his dad’s hold. He stared at the plate in his hands until he heard the rattle of old pipes indicating that the shower had kicked on. He was not going to get all emotional because his dad had complimented him and kissed the side of his head. He wasn’t 12 anymore.

Stiles finished clean-up, even dried the dishes and put them away in the cupboard, and then checked his phone. Still nothing from Scott. He texted Allison. She hadn’t heard from Scott, yet, either, and she couldn’t go out to Derek’s with him because her parents were making her go to church. They didn’t normally force her to attend with them, so it was probably a ploy to keep her away from Scott for as long as possible after the full moon.

Stiles checked the clock: 8am. The day was _dragging_. He heard his father coming down the stairs. Stiles jumped up and grabbed the chicken casserole he’d made yesterday out of the fridge. He dished some up into a Tupperware container and returned the casserole dish to the fridge. By the time his father had gotten his gun out of the lock box and appeared in the kitchen doorway, Stiles stood holding out the dish.

His dad raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said. “And stay away from the chips.”

An expression of guilt slid across his father’s face, gone as quickly as it had come. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. I come by the lying honestly, is all I’m saying,” Stiles said. “Not that I’d ever lie,” he added at his father’s look.

His dad snorted. He left the kitchen to pick up his hat and turned back to Stiles. “Be careful.” He shook his head. “Jesus, when did I stop telling you to be good and start telling you to be careful?”

Stiles wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten foot pole. “You be careful too.”

His dad gave him a long look. “I will.”

Stiles locked the door behind his dad and then headed for his bedroom. He checked the clock in the kitchen as he passed: 8:20am. The day was _crawling_.

Stiles took a shower and dressed: 8:30. He checked his phone again. He looked at the homework he still had to do – read a chapter of ‘The Great Gatsby’ and answer an essay question – and decided to put it off. 8:31. He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what Derek and Scott had done last night, how well Scott had managed to control himself, whether Scott hadn’t called him yet because he was still sleeping or because something had happened last night and he couldn’t call. 8:35.

Stiles popped off the bed like a jack-in-the-box. He couldn’t wait any longer – he had to know what was going on. If he got over to Derek’s and they were sleeping off the werewolf equivalent of a hangover (wolf-over? moon-over?), then Stiles would just leave very quietly and no one even had to know he’d been there. Except that Derek and Scott were both werewolves and so they’d both probably know. It couldn’t be helped, Stiles was going stir-crazy just sitting and waiting.

When Stiles pulled up to Derek’s creepy old haunted house it actually felt . . . peaceful. There was a light breeze and the birds were singing. It was incongruous. (Stiles did a mental fist pump as one more word-of-the-day word was removed from the list.) Still, he hesitated going up to the house. Now that he was here, he was having second thoughts. Which gave him the impetus he needed to get his feet moving.

Stiles tapped his knuckles against Betty’s hood for luck and headed for the house. He froze when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The birds, he noted idly, had also gone silent. Stiles didn’t even have to look to know that it was Derek. He looked anyway.

At first he saw nothing. Then the shadows at the edge of the woods began to shift and Derek was just there, emerging from the tree line. Stiles could tell that he was wolfed out, but his features shifted as he crossed the clearing until he stared at Stiles through human eyes. (If Stiles thought he detected a hint of red in them he was putting it off to a trick of the light.)

Derek didn’t speak. Or growl. Just stared. Which kind of freaked Stiles out.

“I came to give Scott a ride home,” Stiles said to fill the silence.

“Scott’s already gone.”

“Gone?” Stiles repeated dumbly. “He’s usually not even awake at this hour.”

“He got a lot of rest last night.”

“On the full moon? What, did you knock him out?” Stiles chuckled nervously. “Wait, you didn’t, did you?”

The last word came out as a squeak because Derek had reached Stiles and gotten into his space.

“Nice wolf,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s chest awkwardly. “Eep!”

Derek’s nose was in his neck again, and Stiles did not reflexively tip his head back to give him better access. At least, that was how he was going to tell the story later. Not that this story was going to be told to anyone, ever. He remembered Derek telling him that he’d always smelled good, and Stiles moaned softly. Derek’s growl vibrated against his skin and Stiles curled his fingers into the leather jacket that lay beneath them.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned when Derek’s tongue followed the path his nose paved.

Stiles considered climbing Derek _like a tree_ , but Derek forestalled him by grabbing Stiles’ hand and dragging him off towards the house. Stiles wasn’t nervous. Except for how he totally was. Because Derek was . . . . And he was . . . . And they were . . . .

“Hey, are you taking me back to your lair?” Stiles said with some of his usual bravado. Chutzpah?

Derek didn’t deign to reply. Stiles dug in his heels (better late than never, right?) once they were inside the house and Derek was striding purposefully towards the stairs.

“Whoa! Are those things even _safe_?”

Derek didn’t stop and the first step creaked ominously under their weight.

“I’ve never actually seen you use the stairs,” Stiles babbled. “I thought maybe you wacky werewolves figured that stairs were just for people who didn’t have cool superpowers.”

They were halfway up the stairs now. “You know I’m going to die horribly if these stairs go and I fall.”

Derek’s hand tightened on him and for a second Stiles thought he _was_ falling. Turned out he was just flying. Through the air and over Derek’s shoulder.

“Oh my god, did you just . . . .? Not that the view’s not nice.” Stiles slapped Derek’s ass just because he could. Derek made a sound, but Stiles didn’t think it meant ‘stop’. “I am not some damsel in distress that needs to be _manhandled_.”

Derek dropped Stiles off his shoulder and Stiles flailed until his back hit something soft. A mattress, as it turned out. The mattress lay on the floor and there was one lone pillow and a soft blanket on it. Stiles glanced around the room and saw a couple boxes with clothes spilling out of them. His heart clenched a little bit when he realized that Derek was literally _living out of boxes_. Though, he did live in a half-burnt house, so Stiles wasn’t sure what else he’d expected.

Before he could say anything that would make Derek feel bad, or sad, Stiles was distracted by Derek taking off his leather jacket. And his t-shirt. And then sitting down on the edge of the mattress to remove his boots.

Stiles’ mouth went very dry and he had to try twice before he could form words. “Not that I’m not _incredibly_ turned on right now, but isn’t this a bit sudden?”

Unsurprisingly Derek didn’t answer. He did wrestle Stiles out of hoodie and t-shirt, though. Of course Stiles didn’t put up that much of a fight. He was 16, and there was the imminent prospect of sex looming on his horizon. Stiles toed his sneakers off without having to be told, even though his heart was doing the macarena in his chest.

Derek arranged Stiles the way he wanted him and spooned up behind him. Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ neck and that, along with the expanse of bare skin along his back, sent electric tingles through his body. As Derek sniffed him, he dragged his hand over Stiles’ chest and down his belly. Stiles may have whimpered. He hoped that Derek was too involved in the sniffing to have heard, but he wouldn’t bet the farm on it.

Derek’s fingers slid over the denim of his jeans until he cupped Stiles through the material. Stiles mewled and pushed into Derek’s hand. He waited expectantly, every nerve ending tingling, but there was nothing.

“Derek?”

His only answer was the even breaths tickling his neck that told Stiles that Derek had fallen asleep.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

Stiles placed his hand over Derek’s and squeezed. Nothing. He tried to remove Derek’s hand, but his fingers flexed dangerously so close to Stiles’ goods.

“Wow, territorial much?”

When Derek still didn’t answer Stiles jabbed his elbow back into his stomach. Derek didn’t move, as if the jab hadn’t even registered.

“Great. I’m never going to be able to get to sleep like this.”

~*~

At first Stiles wasn’t sure what had woken him. He shuddered as Derek stroked him through his jeans. Stiles wondered if Derek was dreaming. He wondered if _he_ was dreaming. Derek inhaled deeply, nose pressed against the back of Stiles’ neck, and he thought that maybe neither of them was dreaming.

Derek closed his teeth on the muscle at the juncture of shoulder and neck. Stiles arched into it, opening his neck to Derek, pushing into his hand. Derek licked up Stiles’ neck and then sniffed some more. He drew back and lifted his hand off Stiles.

Frustrated, Stiles exploded, “Oh my god! If you stop again I am going to punch you!”

Derek’s fingers moved to Stiles’ waistband.

“Oh god, yes, please,” Stiles breathed.

He mewled when Derek finally touched him, the heat of Derek’s hand curling around the length of him. Stiles hadn’t even known he could make that sound. Derek liked it, if the happy snuffling sounds he made in Stiles’ neck were any indication.

Derek stroked him slowly. Which was a surprise – everything with Derek felt so urgent and this was . . . definitely not. Derek took his time. Of course he would _now_ when Stiles was desperate and aching. Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but the swipe of Derek’s thumb over the head of his dick silenced him. Silenced might be the wrong word. Stiles still made sounds, but they were unintelligible as words.

Stiles caught his breath as Derek slowly rocked into him, his hardness pressing against Stiles’ ass, his nose tickling Stiles’ neck. “Are you getting off on sniffing me? Oh my god, you are, aren’t you?”

Derek bit him in reply, and then sniffed whatever scent wafted off Stiles in response to the bite. A good one, if Derek’s soft little growls were to be believed. Derek sucked on the tendon running up Stiles’ neck. Little sucks all the way up and then back down. Stiles hoped he wasn’t leaving a hickey _the entire length of his neck_ because there was no way he’d be able to hide that from his dad. Or anyone with eyes.

And yet the thought of being marked, like Derek was some possessive boyfriend that wanted everyone to know that Stiles belonged to him, well, it did things to Stiles. Things that maybe a boy of the twenty-first century should be above. But it was difficult to convince his body of that when Derek was touching him like _this_.

Derek never sped up his strokes, but the touch was finally too much for Stiles’ teenaged body to withstand. He curled the fingers of one hand into the blanket, the fingers of the other into Derek’s hair, which Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d reached back to grab. Derek didn’t seem to mind. At least Stiles didn’t think so. He sucked on Stiles’ neck _hard_ (that one _would_ leave a mark) and Stiles moaned Derek’s name as he spilled into his hand.

Derek gently eased Stiles through his orgasm, stopping before Stiles could even tell him that he was getting too tender. Freaky werewolf senses. Derek’s hand left him and Stiles watched through his post-orgasmic haze as he brought the hand to his mouth and licked it.

Stiles made an embarrassing sound, and to cover said, “You really have an oral fixation, don’t you?”

In response Derek dragged Stiles’ head back and licked into his mouth, sharing the taste of Stiles’ come with him. He’d tasted it before – he had the healthy curiosity of a teenaged boy, after all – but somehow it tasted different, better, off Derek’s tongue. Derek pulled away before Stiles was ready to let him go, and then offered his hand to Stiles.

Stiles met Derek’s eyes and couldn’t look away. He obediently stuck out his tongue and ate his own come off Derek’s fingers. Derek’s eyes went hot and Little Stiles gave a valiant, if futile, effort to return to the game. Derek growled and swooped down to lick the come off Stiles’ lips and out of his mouth.

Stiles’ lips were hot and swollen when Derek’s hand was clean and Derek was finally satisfied that he’d licked the last of Stiles’ come out of his mouth. Stiles licked his lips and Derek’s eyes followed the motion hungrily, as if they hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes kissing.

“That was disturbingly hot,” Stiles said.

Derek made a rumble-y sound as he settled back in as the big spoon in their new spooning relationship and tucked his nose into Stiles’ neck.

“Is this a thing? The cuddling, I mean. A full moon thing?”

Derek sniffing Stiles’ neck was the only response.

“‘Cause I’m not actually a teddy bear. You could be, though. Cuddly the Care Bear. Or Were Bear.” Stiles snorted at his own afterglow-induced humor.

The growl that vibrated against his neck wasn’t nearly as frightening as Derek might have wanted it to be. Though it did affect areas of Stiles’ body that he was pretty sure wouldn’t be _able_ to respond quite yet given the way Derek had dragged out his last orgasm. Stiles stretched against Derek, his body still enjoying the lassitude of his climax.

Before Derek could move away Stiles felt the evidence that Derek hadn’t come against his ass. “Oh,” Stiles said, trying to twist around in Derek’s arms, “let me . . . .”

Derek tightened his hold on Stiles so he couldn’t move. “I’m fine.”

“What do you mean, you’re fine?”

“I mean,” Derek said, “that I’m fine, I don’t need you to . . . .”

Stiles flailed, elbowing Derek in the stomach in his attempt to free himself. Finally Derek allowed him to turn (Stiles wasn’t under the illusion that he could have if Derek hadn’t let him) and face him.

“You don’t _need_ me to?” Stiles said, in a tone that apparently even Derek could tell meant that he was in deep shit.

“You’re so young . . . ,” Derek tried again.

“Young,” Stiles repeated in disbelief. “So let me get this straight. It’s okay for you to sniff me. To lick me. To kiss me. To give me the naughty touch. And to _eat my come_. But you draw the line at letting _me_ touch _you_?”

Derek’s nostrils were flared and Stiles could tell that Derek was still scenting him.

“Oh my god, will you stop that long enough to talk to me?” Stiles reached over and pinched Derek’s nose shut.

Derek gave a growl and then _inhaled through his mouth_.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Derek gave Stiles a look both sheepish and defiant. “I can taste how good you smell.”

“That’s . . . .” Stiles released Derek’s nose, which he wiggled like the cutest little bunny rabbit, and then he leaned almost reflexively towards Stiles.

Stiles placed his hand over Derek’s face and pushed him back. “No. This one-sided whatever? Doesn’t work for me.”

Stiles almost couldn’t believe he’d said that. He had the opportunity to get kisses and hand jobs (and maybe more) from someone as hot as Derek Hale, and he was turning it down? But he wasn’t lying, it wouldn’t be enough, not if Derek didn’t allow him to reciprocate. Stiles turned to slide off the mattress and find his t-shirt, but Derek grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“No.” Stiles watched Derek’s face as he fought to get the words out. “Don’t go.”

“Give me a reason to stay.”

Derek looked like he’d bitten into something sour, then said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

When Stiles still looked confused, Derek went on. “If I lose control.”

“Are you afraid you’ll _bite me_?” Stiles yelped.

“No,” Derek said, as if Stiles was a moron.

“Then what?”

“I am not comfortable talking about this,” Derek gritted out.

“Clearly. Then write it down,” Stiles said blithely. “Or I could just leave.”

Derek’s fingers tightened, and then he released Stiles. Stiles stared at the place on his arm where Derek’s hand had been, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“Oh.” Stiles slowly drew his hand back, then turned away from Derek.

Derek’s hand shot out again. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No,” Derek said, sounding confused. “I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles exploded. “You are so confusing! Just tell me already!”

When Derek hesitated again, Stiles pounced on him. He wasn’t very threatening, probably, being human, shirtless, and having his dick hanging out of his pants, but Derek recoiled.

“Are you afraid of me?” Stiles said, surprised. “Because I make you feel something?”

“Because you make me feel too much!” Derek snarled, and then looked surprised that he’d admitted that much.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s head to hold it still and lowered his own. Instead of bringing their mouths together he stuck his nose in Derek’s neck and sniffed. Derek went still. Stiles’ nose wasn’t nearly as good as Derek’s, but he could still smell some things. Like leaves. (He pictured Derek rolling around on the ground in the woods and smiled.) And leather. And Derek.

Derek hadn’t moved since Stiles put his nose on him, his fingers gripping Stiles’ hips tightly through the denim. Stiles sniffed up Derek’s neck to behind his ear, then along his jaw. He licked, the stubble rough against his tongue. He sucked, leaving a trail of small marks he knew would heal before he left. He closed his teeth on Derek’s neck and Derek growled, hips rolling almost against his will if the soft groan that followed was any indication.

“Let me,” Stiles said low against Derek’s ear. “I want to.”

Stiles slowly slid a hand down Derek’s bare torso, over shoulder and chest and belly. He didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind, but he didn’t want to spook him, either. When his fingers met the waistband of Derek’s jeans Stiles slid his hand lower until he found Derek beneath the denim, rubbed him through the material.

Derek made a sound Stiles wanted to hear again. He released Stiles with one hand and fumbled between them until he’d released his cock and Stiles could touch him skin to skin. It was hotter than Stiles had expected, and Derek groaned as if he was in pain when Stiles touched him. Stiles was familiar with that kind of pain. And he knew just what to do to alleviate it.

Stiles watched Derek’s face as he stroked him, the feel of another man’s dick in his hand both familiar and foreign. Derek looked back at him, eyes hooded and dark. Stiles bent his head, and this time he did press his lips to Derek’s. He darted his tongue out to lick Derek’s lips and Derek parted them. Stiles licked his way into Derek’s mouth the way Derek had done to him. Derek sucked on Stiles’ tongue, which was strangely hot and made his hand stutter on Derek’s dick.

Derek tried to remain stoic, even when he had to break off the kiss to just concentrate on breathing, puffs of air hot against Stiles’ face. Stiles nipped at Derek’s lips, bit the tip of his tongue, and Derek growled low and deep.

Derek moaned Stiles’ name as his grip tightened on Stiles’ hips, and then he pulsed in Stiles’ hand. As soon as he was done Derek rolled Stiles onto his back and raised Stiles’ hand to his mouth. Stiles watched Derek lick his own come off Stiles’ fingers and parted his lips to Derek’s tongue when he raised up for a kiss.

“Is this a thing?” Stiles asked a little breathlessly when Derek sucked a finger into his mouth. “It’s totally a thing, isn’t it?”

Derek didn’t bother to answer, and when Derek kissed him again Stiles forgot what he’d been asking.

~*~*~*~

Stiles didn’t remember much of the drive to the grocery store from Derek’s house. They could only lie on the mattress with Derek losing himself in Stiles’ scent for so long, and once they were both fully dressed things got awkward. It had amused Stiles in a not-funny-haha way that things had been less awkward when they’d been partly naked. He’d mentioned it to Derek when he got the quizzical eyebrow glare, but he hadn’t shared Stiles’ amusement.

In fact, Derek appeared annoyed. More at himself than with Stiles, this time, which was new.

“So,” Stiles said. “That was unexpected. Fun. Interesting.”

Derek’s eyebrows drew down further with each word Stiles spoke.

“Could you please stop acting like I took advantage of you? If I’d known you were susceptible to cuddling after the full moon I’d have stayed away.”

A total lie, but Derek didn’t seem to be paying attention to Stiles’ heart rate, and whatever else it was that usually gave him away.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said.

“For turning back into a grumpy puss and ruining my afterglow?” Stiles guessed.

Derek glared at him, but it was a weak effort.

“For . . . losing control,” Derek said, the words sounding like they’d been ground out between two rocks.

“When did you lose control?” Stiles said. “As I recall, I had to practically force you to . . . .”

Derek’s eyes flashed.

“Force might be a little . . . .”

Derek ignored Stiles’ backtracking and said, “When I . . . dragged you upstairs with me.”

“Ah,” Stiles said. “When you threw me over your shoulder as if we were characters in one of those romances with the half-naked really buff men on the covers and cuddled me against my will?”

“You are not taking this seriously,” Derek said.

“You seem to be taking it seriously enough for both of us,” Stiles said lightly. “So, listen,” he went on before Derek could strangle him, which he looked close to doing if the way he kept fisting his hands was any indication. “You should think about telling Scott about Jackson.”

“And why would I do that?” Derek said, effectively side-tracked.

“Remember that trust thing we talked about before?”

Stiles could tell by the unhappy expression on Derek’s face that he did.

“Also, you do not live in a vacuum where anything you do affects only you. It would be common courtesy to let Scott, the only other werewolf in town currently, that we know of anyway, know that you’re attempting to make other werewolves. Especially when one of them is Jackson,” Stiles couldn’t help adding.

“Additionally, it would be a good idea not to piss off the werewolf (and his human companion, which would be me) that sometimes helps you out. And who you might also want to consider asking to join this pack you’re planning on starting. Besides,” Stiles ended, surprised that Derek was actually still standing there listening, “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep the truth from him, especially now that he can tell when I’m lying, and it would just be better coming from you.”

Derek snarled, “I’ll think about it.” He stalked away from Stiles, who remained silent for a moment so he could fully appreciate the view.

“Know what I’m going to be thinking about?” Stiles said when he’d found his tongue again, not even bothering to raise his voice. “That sound you made when I finally got to touch you.”

Derek mis-stepped. He recovered quickly, but not before Stiles saw. Stiles smiled to himself as he slid into the Jeep, greeting Betty with a pat on the steering wheel. “Hey, girl, let’s go get some groceries. I’m suddenly famished.”

Even when he pulled into the parking lot at Nugget Markets Stiles was still thinking about that sound Derek had made, and everything else they’d done, playing it on a loop inside his head. It had finally hit him that _he’d had sex_. Stiles wondered if he looked different, if people could tell just by looking at him that he was no longer a stranger to sex of the man on man variety. Or sex of any kind that didn’t involve only his own hand. No one seemed to be staring, except for when he talked to himself in response to the notes his father had added to the shopping list, so Stiles was taking that as a no.

Next to Stiles’ notation of ‘bacon’, his father had written, ‘real bacon, for the love of god!’. “Drama queen,” Stiles muttered as he prepared to completely ignore the entreaty.

Stiles pushed his cart forward, one eye on the list in his hand, the other on the shelves he was passing. He hadn’t been paying one hundred percent attention (or any) to where he was going, but he was still startled when his cart bumped into another cart.

“Sorry . . . ,” Stiles said, raising his eyes to the person driving the cart he’d bumped. “Mr. Argent.”

“Stiles,” Chris Argent said, giving Stiles a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Funny bumping into you here.”

“Yeah, a hoot,” Stiles said, feeling uncomfortable for reasons he could totally pinpoint as they involved the man throwing Stiles around (which was really only fun when Derek did it, and not always then) and _shooting Scott with an arrow_. “So.” He searched for something to say. “How was church?”

“Church was good. You and your father don’t attend?”

“My dad works on Sundays,” Stiles said, not addressing the issue of his own attendance. He hadn’t gone to church since his mom died, because she was the one who’d enjoyed the services. Stiles had just gone with her because it made her happy.

“Allison couldn’t make it this morning, either,” Chris Argent said.

And the other penny drops, Stiles thought as he tried to keep Chris Argent from noticing that he’d tensed up. “I’m sorry to hear that. She sounded like she was looking forward to it when we spoke this morning,” Stiles lied. “Well, I should get going. You have a nice day.”

Before Stiles could get past him, Chris Argent spoke again. “Allison tells me that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Derek Hale.”

Stiles’ blood froze. He’d heard the saying, but he’d never known what it meant until now. This, then, was the reason Chris Argent had made sure to bump into him. Stiles was used to lying (even lying to Chris Argent) so he managed to not let on that the comment had thrown him. He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Allison told you? In that case, I’m sure she also told you that Derek is helping Scott. We wouldn’t want anyone to accidentally shoot him with a crossbow, now would we?”

Chris Argent tipped his head just enough to concede the point to Stiles, but he wasn’t out of the game yet. “How’s your father doing?”

“My father’s fine,” Stiles said, hoping it came across as ‘leave my father out of this’.

“I’m surprised he doesn’t mind you hanging out with a . . . murder suspect.”

“Derek was cleared,” Stiles said as his heart fluttered madly, as if trying to escape at the implied threat to tell his father that Derek was a werewolf. He might not be able to hide his reactions from a werewolf, but he was sure as hell going to hide them from Chris Argent. Especially since he was probably bluffing – if Stiles’ dad found out about werewolves, he’d also discover that there were hunters.

“I wonder how he’d feel about your ‘friendship’ . . . ,” Argent emphasized the word with a glance at Stiles’ neck, bait Stiles now knew enough _not_ to rise to, “. . . with Derek if he knew the man’s true nature.”

And the threat was no longer implied. Awesome.

“I wonder how he’d feel about having a group of well-armed vigilantes in his town,” Stiles returned, the evenness of his voice surprising himself. “Hey, I know! Why don’t you invite him over for coffee and then give him a tour of your garage?”

Argent inclined his head, acknowledging Stiles’ point. Still, he’d made his own point. “I’ll see you around, Stiles,” Chris Argent said as he moved off. It sounded as much a threat as telling Stiles’ father about Derek had.

Stiles shook as he walked away, gripping the handle tightly and forcing his knees to lock so he didn’t just slide down to the floor, not stopping until he turned the corner at the end of the aisle and was hidden from Chris Argent. Only then did Stiles give in to the panic and slump over his cart. He might have stayed there longer if one of the ladies he recognized from one of the many committees his mom had been on hadn’t stopped to say hi. By the time she left him Stiles was ready to finish up the shopping.

Stiles was almost tempted to get the real bacon for his father as an apology for all the lies he’d never know about. Instead he picked out some peaches, which were his dad’s favorite. Stiles kept looking over his shoulder, though, expecting Chris Argent to appear around the next corner. Stiles was relieved when he reached the checkout without another encounter or sighting of him, but he still checked out the parking lot as he walked to his Jeep and loaded the grocery bags into the back.

Stiles’ leg shook the entire time he filled Betty’s tank, and his eyes were never still. He didn’t catch another sight of Chris Argent or the red Tahoe, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still out there. Stiles carried the groceries into the house and slumped against the closed door when he was safely inside with the last load. That didn’t stop him from peeking out the curtain to check the street.

By the time he’d put the groceries away Stiles was more angry than scared. What exactly, he wondered, was the point of threatening him? Threatening Derek? Hadn’t they reached a truce (if an uneasy one) after Peter’s and Kate’s deaths? Maybe it wasn’t Derek, maybe it was Scott. The one werewolf that Chris Argent hadn’t actually mentioned. Had that been intentional? Was Chris Argent looking for a way to keep Scott away from Allison? If he thought that threatening Derek would do that, he was wrong. At least until Scott got completely over being mad at him and maybe agreed to join his pack. Or when hell froze over.

Stiles’ dad came home just then, diverting him from thoughts of Chris Argent’s motives. “What smells so good?” he called out.

Stiles had sliced up some of the peaches and sprinkled them with sugar while he was thinking, and the scent of fresh peaches pervaded the house. Stiles held up the bowl when his dad walked into the kitchen to show him, but pulled it away when he would have stolen a slice.

“These are for the shortcake,” Stiles said. “Have a whole one if you need a snack before dinner, I bought plenty.”

“Shortcake,” his dad breathed. “Your mom’s biscuits?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. He hated the store bought ones, or the ones that came from a mix.

His dad sighed. “You didn’t get real bacon, did you?”

“I got peaches,” Stiles said archly.

His dad smiled at him, looking kind of, not sad, really, more like nostalgic. “You’re a good son, Stiles.”

“I try,” Stiles said lightly, not sure how else to handle his dad in this mood.

His dad stared at him for a moment, then said, “I know you do.”

Stiles watched his dad walk out of the kitchen, snagging a peach from the bowl on the table as he passed, and wondered what had just happened. He shook it off and got out the ingredients for the biscuits. His dad returned while Stiles was measuring. He’d changed out of his uniform and carried a file with him. Stiles raised an eyebrow as his father sat at the table and opened the folder.

“I used to love watching your mom cook,” he explained.

“I remember,” Stiles said.

“And you.”

“Me?”

“Watching her teach you.”

“Oh.” Stiles ducked his head and began mixing, glad to have the excuse not to see the expression on his dad’s face. Part pride in Stiles, part missing his mom so much it hurt.

Stiles formed the biscuits and put the pan in the oven. He cleaned up the mixing dishes and checked the timer: 20 min left. He could probably read the next chapter of ‘The Great Gatsby’ in that time. Stiles brought the book down to the kitchen. Partly to keep an eye on the biscuits, and partly because it had felt nice, just being there with his dad, and he didn’t want that feeling to end. His dad raised his eyes when Stiles joined him at the table, and then turned his attention back to the file without speaking, but Stiles got the feeling that his dad was comfortable as well.

~*~

Stiles hadn’t finished the chapter. To make matters worse, when he read the essay question he couldn’t remember anything he’d already read downstairs, so he had to start over and re-read the entire chapter. Stiles sprawled on his bed to read. It took longer than it should have because he kept glancing over at the window, wondering if he’d see Derek again.

When Stiles finally finished the chapter he still had no idea how to answer the essay question. He lay the open book over his face and closed his eyes in hopes that something would seep into his brain by osmosis. (Unfortunately, _not_ a word-of-the-day word, but something he’d once gotten wrong on a biology quiz and was therefore doomed to remember forever.)

Frustrated, Stiles grabbed the book off his face and went to slap it down onto the bed. Instead his arm jerked and he lost his grip on the book, which went sailing on an aborted trajectory towards Derek, who sat on the window sill watching him.

“You _jerk_ ,” Stiles hissed quietly in deference to his father downstairs. “You did that on purpose.”

The corners of Derek’s lips twitched, but his amusement at Stiles’ expense didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Stiles sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Leaning forward, he said, “What’s wrong?”

Derek shrugged. “I just hate not knowing what’s going on with Jackson.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Stiles said.

Derek raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t make fun of Stiles’ attempt at positivity.

Stiles pinched the comforter between his fingers, wondering how to broach the subject of Chris Argent now that Derek was here. He’d wanted to talk to him about it, but now that he could Stiles didn’t know where to start.

“What’s wrong?” Derek growled.

“Are you, like, scenting my distress, or something?” Stiles asked.

Derek frowned. “No. Your poker face needs some work.”

“Oh. Well, I ran into Chris Argent at the Nugget today,” Stiles said. “He didn’t _do_ anything,” he added quickly at the growl low in Derek’s throat, “but I think he threatened us. I mean, all of us. He said something about telling my dad about you, but _I_ said that maybe he should show my dad the arsenal in his garage, but I don’t really think it had anything to do with you or me. I think he was actually threatening Scott. Without, you know, mentioning Scott’s name at all.”

By the time he got that all out Stiles was breathless. Derek had moved from the window sill to the bed. He touched Stiles’ shoulder tentatively, as if he wasn’t really sure how to comfort someone. “You’re alright, though?” he said, and Stiles got the impression that the answer had better be yes or someone was going to pay. Stiles couldn’t deny that it made him feel good.

“Yes, but I kept looking over my shoulder on the way home, expecting to see him _everywhere_. It was nerve wracking. For a guy that’s not a werewolf, he’s plenty scary.”

Derek’s hand tightened on Stiles’ shoulder (not enough to hurt, more of a reassuring squeeze, if the person reassuring you had werewolf strength), and his fangs had dropped. “We don’t believe in involving humans in our battle, unless we can’t help it,” he added with a look at Stiles. “The fact that he’s threatening to tell your father about me is either a bluff . . . .”

“That’s what I thought,” Stiles said. “Which is why I suggested he show my dad his guns.”

“Or he’s not above breaking the code, either. It would be within my rights to kill him for threatening you.”

“Wow, that’s . . . really . . . sweet,” Stiles said carefully. “But unnecessary. Though I do appreciate the offer.” He patted Derek’s leg.

Derek’s nose twitched. He raised Stiles’ hand to his nose and sniffed his fingers. “You smell like peaches,” he said, sounding confused.

“That’s because I sliced up peaches for shortcake earlier.”

An almost wistful expression crossed Derek’s face, but was gone almost immediately.

“Do you . . . like peaches? We have some left.”

“I’m not hungry,” Derek said, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

“You don’t have to be hungry to eat peach shortcake.” Stiles bumped his shoulder into Derek’s arm. “Come on.” He stood up. “Well, you’ll have to go that way.” Stiles pointed towards the window. “I don’t think my dad would be pleased to see us both coming out of my bedroom.”

Derek made his face go blank. “You don’t need to take care of me.”

Everybody needed to be taken care of once in a while, but Stiles just said, “It’s just peach shortcake.” As he ran towards the door he called back, “Race you!” then, “Don’t think I didn’t see that!” when Derek rolled his eyes.

By the time Stiles reached the bottom of the stairs his dad was already opening the door to Derek’s knock. Stiles’ father gave him a look as he clomped to a stop in the hallway, and Derek smirked at him over his father’s shoulder.

“You have company,” his dad said.

“I can see that,” Stiles replied.

“You still have homework to do?”

“Just an essay.”

“Not too late, then. And Stiles, you and your guest will stay downstairs.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “You’re welcome to join me in the living room.”

Stiles didn’t realize his father had such an evil streak. “That’s okay,” he said. “We’ll just be in the kitchen.”

His father gave him a look, but then returned to the living room. Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and dragged him to the kitchen.

“You cheated,” Stiles said as he got the peaches out of the fridge.

“I gave you a head start,” Derek said unrepentantly as he settled in at the kitchen table.

Stiles tried not to think about how Derek looked liked he belonged there. Things were so unsettled right now, and nothing about the future was certain – he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

Stiles heated the leftover biscuits in the microwave. They wouldn’t be as good as fresh from the oven, but they would still taste alright. He set everything in front of Derek, and then sat across from him and watched as he broke up the steaming biscuit into his bowl, added peaches and the sweet milk Stiles had made.

It was homey and domestic, and Stiles thought he could get used to it. He hated himself a little bit for the thought because there was really nothing homey or domestic about Derek Hale. And they had other things, big, important things, to worry about, like Chris Argent and the other hunters, and Jackson and bites not taking, and Derek’s need to form a pack, and Lydia still lying in a hospital bed.

“This is good,” Derek said.

Stiles couldn’t help the flush of pleasure that went through him. “Thanks.”

Stiles could only watch Derek eat for so long before his thoughts started to turn to Derek doing other things with his lips. To take his mind off that Stiles said, “What are we going to do about Mr. Argent?”

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the ‘we’. “I thought I’d stop by his house tonight, do some recon.”

“Do you think that’s safe?”

“I can take care of myself,” Derek said.

“Yeah, yeah, werewolf, got it. What I meant was, will he be expecting you?”

Derek gave Stiles an assessing look, as if he was surprised that he’d had a good idea. Stiles didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.

“He might at that. If he thought you’d pass on the message.”

“Maybe that’s what the whole ‘you’ve been hanging out with Derek’ and threatening to tell my dad was all about.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Stiles didn’t say anything. He grabbed the empty bowl and carried it over to the sink and rinsed it out. He knew there wasn’t anything he could say to change Derek’s mind and it was frustrating. Stiles dropped the bowl and turned around to face Derek. “If you get caught I’ll be really pissed.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“If you do it would serve you right if I left you there.”

Derek got out of the chair and Stiles wondered if he’d gone too far.

“You won’t,” Derek said confidently as he stalked towards Stiles.

“I might,” Stiles insisted, standing up straighter.

“You’re too nice.”

“That sounds like an insult. And also, I am not.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Derek purred. He was close enough now to lower his head and press his nose to Stiles’ neck. Stiles tipped his head back to give Derek better access, but Derek was already stepping back.

“Goodnight, Stiles. Goodnight, Sir,” Derek added as he passed Stiles’ father on his way out of the kitchen.

“Goodnight,” Stiles’ father said, sounding the slightest bit surprised that Derek was leaving without having to be shown the door.

His father looked at Stiles and he released his white knuckled grip on the sink. His dad glanced at the nearly empty bowl of peaches on the table and shook his head.

“I don’t know which is worse, not knowing what you two were doing out here, or finding out that you fed him my peaches.”

“I can make more. They’re better freshly sliced, anyway.”

“True,” his father said, turning an assessing gaze onto Stiles. Twice in one night was too much.

“I’ll just clean this up and then go finish my essay,” Stiles said.

“I’ll get it,” his dad said. “You go on, do your homework.”

“Oh, well, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Stiles escaped as quickly as he could, his father’s appraising look still burning into his back. When he got to his bedroom Stiles did not immediately pick up ‘The Great Gatsby’ from where it still lay on the floor and get working on his essay. Instead he went over to the window and looked out. He knew that Derek wasn’t there, and that he would probably not be able to see him if he was lurking about, but Stiles looked for him anyway. Stiles raised his eyes to the sky and looked at the stars. At the moon.

Stiles shook himself and closed the window. This time he did pick up the book and head over to his desk. He’d start his essay, and if he needed to clear his head he’d do some more research. There had to be a reason that Jackson hadn’t turned, and that Lydia was still unconscious, and on the very high probability that it wasn’t a good reason Stiles figured they’d better know about it sooner rather than later.

Besides, this way he wouldn’t think about what Derek was doing tonight, and worry that he’d gotten caught, because he was pretty sure that Derek wouldn’t stop by afterwards just to alleviate his fears. Which led him to wondering if Derek _did_ have a cell phone. From what Scott had said, probably not. But he wasn’t on the run anymore, and it would sure be convenient if he could just call him when something happened, like running into Chris Argent in the grocery store.

Something else to go on his to-do list, but first, homework, then research, and then he’d worry about Derek.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Season Two Spoiler: Jackson does not turn into a werewolf.


End file.
